I am parched and dry
dreaming of rain
like a thirsty crop
no, not rain:
I imagine a downpour,
would prefer a drenching
a soaking
like rum in a bread pudding.
Oh, to be drunk on new wine
to relish a draught
of liquid life,
Living Water.
Sadly, there is no time
to drink
so I settle for drops
few and far between
but packed with life
reminding me
there is more
where that came from,
the everlasting River.

To be 94

I'd sure like a cup of coffee.
The grounds go in the top, but where?
And here is the glass pitcher
6 cups full of water
but I don't remember
where to pour it.

My mind is like a leaky bucket,
a sad sieve that saves 
less and less these days,
an empty, worn-out basket.

If I could stop up the holes,
plug the places
where my mind has slipped out
perhaps I could remember 
where to pour the water.

I DO remember this--
I'd sure like a cup of coffee.

Caring for my mother in law who is at home with us... Changes are coming faster than we would all like.
It is hard for us to watch, but it must be awful for her.  Writing in this space helps.